


The On Time Vulpine

by OfficerFox



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Car Chases, Crimes & Criminals, Organized Crime, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficerFox/pseuds/OfficerFox
Summary: In the grimy underworld of Zootopia, there are plenty of less-than-legal services one can hire. One of these, is a certain courier. Anything that he can carry, from one side of town to the other in under an hour: subtlety is a maybe. However, if you need something fast, he's the one to call.





	The On Time Vulpine

The bright skyline of Zootopia glimmers against the night sky, the skyscrapers easily visible for miles. It didn't matter if one was in Pack Street, or Sahara Square, it only took a look over the shoulder to examine the central buildings. This rang especially true in a certain alleyway, where a fox clad in charcoal riding gear takes the plate off a jet black Pawasaki H2, currently the fastest production motorcycle in the world. While yes, the fox did legally own the motorcycle, he definitely didn't want a lucky dash-camera shot of his plate to trace the motorcycle back to him. Standing up, he slides the plate inside his jacket, then dons the helmet resting on the bike's seat. He swings his leg over, and rolls his back whilst twisting the key in the ignition, the starter clicking a few times before the engine turns over. The electronic guages light up, the tachometer stretching its digital legs from nil to redline before crawling back to idle. The vulpine ticks his visor down and flicks on the headlights before slowly pulling out onto the road, the sound of his dumped exhaust bouncing off the old industrial buildings forming the surroundings.

~~~

Despite it being midnight, Savanna Central feels hot: The combination of riding gear, being near the Rainforest District, and the extra humidity from the docks a block or two down didn't help at all. The fox takes note of a certain street sign reading "Vole Garden Pkwy", and turns the corner coming to a stop next to a black sedan's rear window. The window rolls down, revealing a polar bear dressed in a tracksuit and a very, very expensive watch.

"I'm trusting you with this one."

"Don't even worry. Within an hour, as promised."

"And remember-" The polar bear starts, handing over a duffel bag which the fox puts around his back.

"-every minute over sixty, we take a thousand from your pay."

The fox lifts his helmet visor, revealing his red face and steely gray eyes.

"Raymond, if you didn't think I could do it, you wouldn't have hired me."

Raymond's face twists into a snarl.

"Listen, dammit! Word is that that humper Marley Boro and his friends over in Sahara know about this. Keep an eye in your mirrors, is all I'm saying."

While Raymond couldn't tell, the fox's face in that helmet turned from a smug one to a worried one.

"Y-yeah, gotcha."

"Now good luck, I won't start the timer 'till you turn the corner."

The fox flicks his visor down and gives his motorcycle some gas, taking away slowly, and turning the corner before giving it all it's got, the sound of the supercharged three cylinder echoing off the long closed factories.

~~~

The fox putters through the lower-income neighborhoods, as the attention he'd get from going all out wasn't worth it, let alone the danger from hauling tail on surface streets. He rolls his eyes as the light turns green, slowly pulling away as a glint in the mirror takes his attention: Headlights. He keeps his helmet forward, subtely looking in the mirror to examine what was behind him, if it was a cop, or worse.

"Black SUV, two mammals at least..."

The car goes under a streetlight, casting away the shadows keeping it's occupants hidden.

"Both camels in suits..."

The fox focuses on the camel's grip on the steering wheel.

"Driver wearing gloves... Shit."

The courier stops at the next red light, the SUV pulling alongside. The skin on the back of the fox's neck crawls, picking up the sound of the SUV's window rolling down.

"'Scuse me, could we get directions?"

The vulpine simply turns to look the camel in the eye, his paws still tight on the handlebars.

"We need to get to..."

The clutch engages with a slow squeeze, as the fox turns the throttle ever so slightly in preparation.

"Mr. Big's house."

That was far too much a coincidence for the fox to let it go by. He twists the throttle as far as it'll go, and lets go of the clutch. The power goes straight to the rear tire, breaking it loose from the pavement as the fox takes off, the SUV roaring it's engine in pursuit. The courier only goes to the top of first gear, roughly ninety MPH, letting off to scan intersections before blasting through them. In hot pursuit, the SUV barrels past the intersections, slowly gaining on the fox. Noting a clear intersection, the courier guns it ag-

He squeezes both brakes as hard as he can, locking up his tires as a ram, wolf, stoat, and badger start crossing the street. Having bled enough sped, the fox lets off entirely, his tires regaining grip as he leans down, swerving around the group, his kneepads brushing the pavement. Hammering down again, he checks his mirrors, and spots the SUV swerve into the complete other side of the road, still hot on his tail.

 

"Not good not good not good not gooood!"

"Just go with the route," the fox thinks.

"They won't keep with me on the route."

The courier dips down a few more turns and straights, eventually pulling onto an onramp. Even though it's currently midnight, there's still traffic for the fox and the camels to weave through.

"God damn, give up already, waterbag!" 

The wind pushes the bag off the fox's back, the strap clinging around his frame. A close brush with a semi-truck reminds him how painful it'd be to go down at this speed, let alone the pain if he got caught by the cam-

A gunshot rings out, the bullet impacting near the fox's right paw in the pavement. The driver slaps the passenger's arm down, scolding him.

"Dumbass! If he goes down goin' this fast, the shit gets ruined!"

System pumping with adrenaline, the fox starts breathing harder, gripping the handlebars tighter as his toes curl. Again, the wind creates a temporary gap between the dufflebag and the courier's back. He glances down at his guages, the speedometer reading 146 MPH. A grin curls on his muzzle as an idea cooks in his head. Daringly, he cuts right onto the shoulder to undertake a bus, as he starts loosening his helmet straps with his paw. He juts back onto the freeway, spotting the passenger camel leaning out of the window of the SUV, a shotgun in hand.

"Let's see how you like this!"

The fox pulls his helmet off his head, the sound of wind immediately filling his ears to near painful levels.

"Fuuuuck-"

Rearing his arm back, he throws the helmet towards the SUV's windscreen.

"You!"

The helmet collides with the SUV's windshield, the saftey glass instantly forming blinding spiderweb cracks in the material. It's front end dips down as the driver slams the brakes, smoke appearing as the tires lock up. He begins turning the wheel, yet it does nothing thanks to the locked fronts. Letting off the brakes solves this, the driver camel overcorrecting; the inertia swishing the slide to the other side as the rear end comes around. The top heavy SUV begins tipping, than rolls over several times before it's too far back to make it out in the mirror.

"Eat shit, waterbag!"

The fox shouts, adrenaline coursing in his system. He dips his head underneath the meager windshield on his motorcycle, smiling as he drops down a gear, the engine screaming up to a higher rev range.

"Now let's make up for lost time.."

Slowly twisting the throttle to wide-open, the courier grins as the digital speedometer climbs in numbers: 150... 160... 170... 180... 185... 190... 193... 195... 200...

The climbing stops there, the engine running out of the power needed to propel such a mass at those speeds. The wind chatters and breaks around the dufflebag on his back as he weaves elongated, delicate lines through traffic and uses all four lanes to take the normally long, sweeping corners of the central highways. He smiles as he turns the final corner in Savannah Central; the tunnel to Tundratown just visible down the road: It was a straight shot from where he currently was all the way to his offramp in the much, much colder climate.

"Once I'm through that tunnel, I'm ho-"

The fox spots a pair of taillights cutting into his lane hundreds of feet ahead. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem; yet, he was going nearly 300 feet a second. Again, he squeezes the brakes, the tires locking up much to his chagrin. He nearly glides the distance with no grip, before he lets off the brakes and cuts left, barely missing the SUV to the point where it breaks his right mirror off in the impact. Shakily, the courier keeps just enough throttle to match the speedlimit, briefly looking towards the occupants of the SUV with a tired, worn-out expression on his muzzle.

"You're fucking kidding me."

Runs through the fox's mind as he notes the driver and passenger; both camels in suits. Their expression matches his, and the transition from shock to determination. Both rider and driver then gun it, the motorcycle pulling an immediate lead. However, no matter the distance he made, or the speed he went, if they got a glimpse of him cutting down the offramp, he'd be caught.

"You're gonna lose him!"

"Shut up!"

Barks the driver, his grip tightening around the steering wheel as both runner and pursuer enter the tunnel. The sound of the bike's illegally modified exhaust amplifies in the tunnel, bringing a temporary pleasure to the fox as he tucks his head down. The speedometer ticks past 180 as he screams past an inlet, a cop car idling in wait for any speeders; he surely was one. Lights and sirens blaring, the cruiser's tires squeal as it pulls from the inlet: Right into the path of the camels' SUV.

The sound of the collision and breaking glass and other carnage briefly took over the sound of the fox's motorcycle, the courier chancing a glance in the mirror, only to smile with glee as he notes the wreck. He lets off the throttle, his exhaust popping, crackling, and even spitting flames as the modified engine makes it's way back down the rev range. Still coasting on both speed and relief, the vulpine turns down his offramp, and slowly putters his way through Tundratown's heart until he makes his way to the Big mansion. With a nod, the polar bears open the gate, allowing him in. With a huff, he kills the engine, and walks the motorcycle's heavy body to the side, setting it's kickstand down as a polar bear takes the dufflebag for him.

"Iz' cold. Come inside for tea?"

The courier swallows looking up and over his shoulder at the polar bear's face.

"After that shitshow, it's gonna have to be vodka."

The ursine chuckles, resting a massive paw on the fox's back as he leads him inside. Rolling his shoulders, he takes his phone from one of the pockets on his riding jacket, and rapidly dials a number.

"Raymond, my guy, I've got quite the effin' story for you!"


End file.
